


steadily closer

by smithens



Series: ficlets, drabbles, & story collections [5]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Crushes, Developing Friendships, Friendship/Love, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9581420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Courfeyrac, unaccustomed to life in Paris, accompanies Enjolras to an important meeting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this piece used to be in [frisson revolutionnaire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7718086/), my catch-all collection for non e/c amis fic. however, i'm going thru the process of editing all of those and posting them separately, so here this is.
> 
> originally, this filled a tumblr prompt. the previous, shorter, less-edited version of this fic on tumblr is [here>.](http://smithensy.tumblr.com/post/147269820782/)

“Truly! I cannot believe you talked me into this.”

Several long paces ahead of him, Enjolras stops walking, then turns on his heel and fixes him with a firm, but amused, look. “As I have said, citizen, I recall the talk differently.”

Much of their walk has been host to this sort of banter: Courfeyrac wishes he might complain less, but it is difficult to refrain from doing so when he is so anxious about their upcoming gathering. To Enjolras's credit alone, however, his inane babbling has not soured their walk.

No matter how severe he may sometimes be in company, Enjolras has not yet held a stern expression with Courfeyrac. When they are beside one another, he speaks softly, in his thoughtful, lyrical tone. Now he walks ahead, but each time Courfeyrac blunders - an awkward comment, a trip or stumble with a cry - his backward glance is never cold. As they have walked across what feels like half of Paris in the span of a single morning, Courfeyrac considers this circumstance a great achievement.

They have known one another for a fraction of a year (their anniversary will come with the upcoming autumn) - and grown steadily closer with time. Still, when he is alone with Enjolras, Courfeyrac hardly knows how to behave himself without feelng like a fool.

He learned early on that he cannot break the ice of his friend’s exterior with talk of women or leisure, nor of their families, nor of even the Church. In politics, however, and often in sentiment, they are usually in striking agreement - but unlike some others, Courfeyrac cannot stomach politics all day and all night. And it is obvious that Enjolras does not share this opposition to the subject: before those whom he does not already know, he is silent until safe - and once his interest is sparked, silent only to listen. In privacy with companions, the case is more severe: Enjolras is animated and eloquent, and all displays of his political passions are inspirational rather than pretentious.

...In general, Enjolras lives his life in a manner Courfeyrac could resent if he were not also so charming. (Not to mention such a dear and wonderful friend.)

And now, as they walk together along the narrow street, Enjolras stands still ahead of him, patient, his arms crossed at his chest but his gentle, handsome countenance contrasting the standoffishness of such a position.

“Pardieu! one of us must be wrong, surely,” Courfeyrac says quickly, to make up for his reverie, and so forth he quickens his pace to catch up. When Enjolras smiles at him, a real smile, he is so focused on the intensity of it that he fails to notice a dislodged paving stone.

He trips again, balancing only at the last minute and with plenty of help from his poor, abused cane.

“Citizen Courfeyrac,” says Enjolras, once Courfeyrac has managed to right himself entirely, “if you wish not to accompany me, I shall not keep you. However, I thought you eager to meet others likeminded; in addition, I value your company greatly. It would be my pleasure to introduce you, if you are comfortable with - perhaps another quarter hour of walking.”

Eager is perhaps an understatement, Courfeyrac thinks, as he had - during a bout of bored dramaticism - begged to be taken along to whatever meeting Enjolras needed to attend, no persuasion necessary. At the time, Enjolras had acquiesced immediately; Courfeyrac has felt a pleasant flutter in his chest for days as he recalls the occasion.

(He has felt the same sensation all morning, from the point of waking onward. That Enjolras seems to be enjoying his company does not help the matter - but it is a thoroughly pleasant feeling for Courfeyrac, all the same.)

“Or we could hail a fiacre, if that would be better suited -”

“No, no.”

Everyone walks everywhere in Paris, unlike the rural estate from which he came. In Paris, buildings are clustered and dense, streets narrow, their paving stones uneven. At first, the city felt odd, now Courfeyrac thinks of it as home. He doubts that he could have designated Poitiers the same, had he been sent there for law school instead.

Courfeyrac breathes in, and out, and he attempts a smile.

“So! it is my own memory that fails me, regarding our meeting at Lord-knows-where with these new fellows of yours - alas.”

Enjolras tilts his head; a golden curl escapes from his hat and falls in front of his eye. Courfeyrac offers him his arm.

The gesture is less of a jest than it might otherwise be.

“You will like them,” says Enjolras, as he links their arms together and continues walking. Courfeyrac does not say anything, but he can tell that his friend is forcing a shorter gait in his honor, and he is grateful. “That is, these new fellows of mine, as you say. I should suspect you will find they think like us.”

_Us._

Haviing known him less than three seasons, Courfeyrac would never pretend that he thinks like Enjolras. They may share their political opinions, but Enjolras is loftier than he, with far greater ideas and further evolved reasoning. The knowledge which Courfeyrac has cultivated seems never to come to close to what Enjolras acts as though he just knows, as other men know their own sense of left and right, of up and down. The casual nature of the comment catches Courfeyrac off guard.

“And, I daresay also that they will like you,” Enjolras continues, with a little tug at Courfeyrac's elbow, pulling him closer.

“You think so?”

“They say that they like me, and I quite like you, Citizen Courfeyrac. It would be an affront to me if they were to - discourage you. Let us leave it there.”

Courfeyrac looks at Enjolras in surprise just as Enjolras looks at him. Their eyes meet; Courfeyrac's heart stutters. As always, Enjolras's smile is disarming... but this time it is also comforting.

The pleasant fluttering feeling reprises itself.

Courfeyrac smiles back.


End file.
